Still: A Rewrite
by Criminy Jickets
Summary: I wasn't fond of Daryl's character in the two episodes he shared with Beth, so I decided to fix it. This is a story in which Daryl plays a responsible adult, tasked with the care and feeding of a vulnerable and traumatized teenaged girl. This is NOT a Bethyl fic. Rated for language only.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Running. It felt like they'd been running for hours; days, even. They hadn't stopped running since they left the prison.

The prison. Everyone they loved, everything they'd built—gone. Just...gone. Daryl's chest constricted at the thought. He couldn't run anymore. He collapsed in a heap, overcome with grief. Beth had already succumbed to her own grief and exhaustion, so they lie there in the field, each consumed with their own thoughts.

Fuck. Beth. What was he supposed to do with her? For her? She'd just seen her father be decapitated right in front of her. In the ensuing chaos, she'd lost her sister. The poor girl would have to be traumatized by what they just went through. But Daryl had never been one for any sort of social interaction, never mind comforting a grieving teenager. He was in so much pain himself. How could he be there for her? God, he couldn't even think straight right now. He knew she wanted to look for the others, but although he'd never admit it, he was afraid. He was afraid that they wouldn't find anyone. He was afraid of what they would find. He didn't know if either of them could handle that right now. He couldn't even allow himself to think—to hope—that they would find anyone alive. Where had hope gotten them so far? On the run because of a madman, separated from their family—that's where.

They both heard the moans in the distance. He glanced at Beth to see if she was recovered enough to continue, and she looked like she was. Ah, youth, he thought. He could have stood a bit more time to catch his own breath, but there was no time. He had the fleeting thought that maybe he shouldn't have started smoking again, as he forced himself to keep up with Beth. His lungs were on fire. He cursed his stupidity—it was just one more wrong choice; one more failure of will. He'd gotten too complacent.

They ran until the sun went down, but they weren't able to get as far ahead of the herd as he would have liked. More walkers kept joining the herd from the forest surrounding the field. Luckily, they hadn't encountered any walkers in front of them—yet. Suddenly, just when he thought they would never find a place to hide, they broke out of the forest to find themselves on a road. There was a broken-down car right in front of them. He vaguely registered Beth trying to start the car as he scouted the area for walkers. They were all behind them, but it wouldn't be long until the herd also broke through the forest. He looked back at Beth; she shook her head. Shit. The car wouldn't start. The only other thing to do, then, was to hide in the trunk. He ushered her in and then climbed in himself, tying the trunk closed with a rope.

He put his finger to his lips as he looked at Beth, silently admonishing her to be quiet. She stared back at him with wide, terrified eyes, and nodded. She knew. She looked away, gazing fearfully out of the small space where the trunk was open to the night. The walkers had caught up to them, and were bumping against the car as they passed by. It was unnerving. He tapped her on the leg with the back of his hand to get her attention, and silently mouthed, "Sleep." He nodded down at a blanket that was left in the trunk. She could use it for a pillow. He didn't know much about what to do for her, but he could do the basics. He thought about Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. He'd read about that when he was her age, and as a survivalist, he'd taken a keen interest in the bottom tiers of the pyramid. She needed sleep, food and water, and shelter. Hell, so did he, but he was responsible for her at the moment. They had enough water to get them by until they could replenish their supply. Food was going to have to wait until the herd passed. This trunk was going to have to do for shelter, such as it was, for the time being. But he could make sure she at least tried to sleep. He knew they were both exhausted. She gave him a look like he was crazy, but slowly and silently shifted to lie down anyway, using the blanket as a pillow. As soon as she laid down, she was out like a light. He huffed out a quiet chuckle, and turned his attention back to keeping guard.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

By morning, the herd had passed. It was a good thing, too, as Beth was snoring. Not loudly, but loud enough to alert walkers to their presence, had there been any around. Daryl wanted to let her sleep as long as possible. He knew she needed it. He'd let his mind wander throughout the night, carefully avoiding thoughts of their lost family, but focusing instead on how to best care for his charge. Now that she was rested, the next thing he had to do was make sure she was fed. Then they could worry about shelter, and maybe he'd finally be able to get some sleep. He hoped she'd wake up soon; he was getting restless. He was also starving. His stomach rumbled loudly at the thought of hunting them up some breakfast, and Beth finally stirred.

"You awake?" he grunted.

"Yeah," she replied, as she sat up. She looked a bit groggy and confused.

"Herd's gone. Was thinkin' I could build a fire and then go huntin'."

"Mmmhh. I can build a fire while you go hunting. Daddy taught me when he used to take us camping," she explained. She shook her head like she was trying to clear the cobwebs out, and then rubbed her eyes. She was starting to look a bit more awake now. She also looked sad, though, as she realized once again that her daddy was gone.

"Yeah? All right. As long as you're sure you're not gonna fall asleep and faceplant into the fire while I'm gone," he teased, trying to do what he could to cheer her up. She gave him a small smile as she untied the rope, and they both climbed out of the trunk. "Let's see what we can scavenge from this car that might come in handy later," he suggested.

They took anything they thought might be useful, and headed back into the forest. Beth began to set up a perimeter using rope and hubcaps they had taken from the car. Smart kid, he thought. "You gonna be all right?" he asked. She nodded. He gave her a nod back, glanced to make sure she had her knife at the ready, and said, "If you need me, just holler. I won't go far." This time, she just ignored him as she went about setting up camp, so he left to go hunting.

He'd been at it for an hour or two, and he wasn't having much luck. He'd missed two squirrels and a pigeon, broken an arrow, and tripped in a gopher hole, nearly busting his head open on a nearby tree, but he finally was able to get a snake for them to eat. Naturally, he sliced his palm open as he was skinning the snake. He was just having that kind of day. To say he was in a bad mood would be an understatement. He was completely off his game, he thought, as he stomped back to their camp. Hopefully Beth had managed to get that fire going. He was sure that quelling that gnawing ache in his belly could only improve his mood.

To his relief, Beth had the camp set up, and the fire going. She gave him a dubious look when she saw the snake, but he just shrugged. Beggars couldn't be choosers, after all, and they didn't have a lot of options right now. After it was cooked, he noted that she only picked at it. At least she was eating something, he figured. Maybe they could find her something more to eat once they came across some sort of shelter. He ate his with gusto.

Suddenly, she broke the silence. "I need a drink." So he tossed her the water bottle.

"No, I mean a real drink. As in alcohol." Jesus. Was she serious? "I thought we could go find some. I've never had one, 'cause of my dad. But he's not exactly around anymore, sooo..."

Daryl snorted. "You ain't old enough to drink."

"I'm 18 by now, and anyway, it's not like laws still exist," she replied.

"Your dad was a smart man. This ain't the time."

"Okay...well, enjoy your snake jerky," she said, as she got up to go on her quest. She grabbed her knife on her way by, and wandered off.

Daryl sighed. He was not a naturally patient man, but he was trying hard to be patient for her sake. She was young and and had been through a lot recently, he reminded himself, and he needed to make allowances for that. At least he'd managed to get himself and Beth fed. He put the fire out, and headed off in the same direction.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Daryl knew Beth had never been outside the prison fences on her own. She hadn't even been on any runs. He couldn't let her wander, unattended, through a forest rife with danger. Still, he wanted her to realize the hazard for herself, so he followed at a distance. He could still help her if she got herself in trouble, but she wouldn't know he was there until then. He'd had years of practice being stealthy while hunting, so this was easy.

Sure enough, he watched as Beth encountered four walkers. She hid behind a tree and tossed a stone away from her, to distract them. They veered off to follow the noise the stone made when it landed. The one in the rear, though, split off from his fellows and appeared to be heading in Beth's direction. Daryl watched her get her knife ready, but the ambling walker turned mindlessly once again in the direction of the others. Beth sagged with relief. Daryl had crept up closer in case she needed help, and gave himself away when he stepped on a fallen branch. Beth turned and saw him. He simply turned and headed back to their camp, Beth following behind him. All the way back, she kept going on about finding some booze, but Daryl just ignored her. She apparently thought he had decided to help her in her quest, but he had no idea what had given her that idea.

She realized what he was doing when she stumbled against the hubcaps she had set up earlier. "What the hell? You brought me back! I'm not staying in this suck-ass camp!" she yelled, and gave him the finger. Daryl's temper flared, but he managed to keep it under control. It was just his luck that she'd choose _now_ to go through her rebellious phase, he thought wearily. She turned to walk away again. Daryl grabbed her arm.

"Hey! You had your fun!" he yelled. He was rapidly losing patience.

Beth was clearly not going to make this easy for him. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you feel anything? Yeah, you think everything's screwed. I guess that's a feeling. So you wanna spend the rest of our lives staring into a fire and eating mud snakes? Screw that! We might as well do something! I can take care of myself, and I'm gonna get a damn drink." Daryl had been caught off guard by this sudden diatribe, so he hadn't said anything. He didn't know what to say. She thought he didn't feel anything? He couldn't even _allow _himself to feel anything right now, or he'd crumple to the ground and get them both killed. When she stalked away again, he wasn't sure what to do. He was completely out of his element. How did people deal with rebellious teenagers? Especially during the apocalypse? He had no idea.

He didn't have a lot of time to think it through, though, and as tempting as the thought was—and it was _mighty _tempting at the moment—he couldn't just let her go off on her own. She was completely unprepared for this world, and Daryl knew he would never forgive himself if something happened to her because of his negligence. He had greatly respected and admired Hershel, and he knew that Hershel would have trusted him to keep his daughter safe. God knows what kind of trouble she'd get herself into out there. So he shook his head to himself, and followed her once again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Golfers like to booze it up, right?" she asked. They had come across a country club. He didn't respond, but instead surveyed their surroundings, noticing a few walkers not too far away.

"C'mon," he grunted, and led her towards the club. He still needed to find them shelter. Maybe this would do. And if she thought it meant that he was on board with her alcohol plans, well, he wasn't above using that to his advantage.

"There might be people inside," she commented, as she tried a side door. It was locked. Daryl searched a fallen walker's pockets for keys. Nothing. He thought to himself that they should probably be cautious of anyone who might be alive—or dead, he supposed—inside, but he kept silent. Beth didn't seem to be capable of facing the reality of their situation at the moment.

The walkers were getting closer, so he led Beth around the building to try another door. This time, they were in luck—the glass front doors were unlocked. He had picked up a golf club on the grounds outside, thinking he could use it as an extra weapon. He hoisted it up so he could use it if he had to. He put his finger to his lips to indicate to her to keep silent, and visually swept the room. It appeared to be empty, although it reeked of death and decay. But once again, their options were limited. "C'mon," he said, ushering her in, and shut the door behind them. As they walked further in, he saw that people had apparently taken refuge here, but they were all dead, their belongings strewn about. He picked up an abandoned flashlight. Hearing walker noises, he shone it into a corner and saw three walkers hanging from the ceiling, rasping hungrily now that fresh meat had presented itself. Poor bastards. Daryl wondered what their story was. Had they opted out? Or had someone done this to them? He looked away. He had more pressing concerns at the moment.

Focus, he told himself, as he thought about what he needed to do next. He absently flexed his hand, and as he felt the stiffness, was immediately reminded of the gash on his palm. Shit. He looked at the cut. It had become inflamed. It didn't hurt too badly, at the moment, but he would need to find something to clean it with soon. Maybe he would be looking for some liquor, after all. That would have to wait for now, though. Daryl stuffed some paper and money into his backpack, thinking it might be useful for tinder later. Beth asked him something, but it didn't really register, so he couldn't answer. Fuck, he was tired. He really needed to get some sleep. Maybe if they kept exploring they would come across—

Daryl's line of thought was interrupted when he heard the glass doors rattle. The walkers had reached the club. They needed to find a more secure area of the building. They rushed into the next room, which appeared to have been the kitchen. It was very dark, but the doors were sturdier. It would buy them some more time, at least. They crept slowly through the kitchen, stopping to scavenge anything they might be able to use later. Daryl saw Beth go through a plastic partition, and soon after heard a racket which his attuned hunter's ears recognized as her climbing on some metal shelving. A few minutes later, he heard Beth screaming and glass breaking. He rushed through the partition to see her fighting with a walker, using a broken wine bottle as a weapon. He only watched, knowing he could step in if necessary, but wanting her to learn to take care of herself eventually. She was doing all right. She'd managed to hold her own, and after she pushed the walker back far enough to give herself time to drop the bottle and grab her knife, she killed the walker herself.

She turned and saw him standing there. "Thanks for the help," she told him sarcastically, panting with exertion.

"Ya said you could take care of yourself. Ya did," he replied nonchalantly. He hoped that having done that would help to increase her confidence in her abilities, but at the same time, he was pissed that she was still focusing on her booze run. She almost got herself killed over a bottle of wine, for Christ's sake. As much as he dreaded the idea, they were going to have to have a little talk. She was at least old enough to pull her own weight somewhat, and if they were going to survive, he was going to need her to help out some.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: Thanks to marbletown, who pointed out that I had the detail wrong about the body on the mannequin (not a walker, after all...who knew? Certainly not me!). I have changed it, but please let me know if I missed anything! I'm kind of half asleep at the moment...not sure I got all the little details of the change. :p**

**Chapter Five**

Daryl led them down a set of stairs into a hallway. There was a display case and a grandfather clock that had fallen over, blocking their path, so he set them to rights. The clock chimed once when it was back in an upright position, but he didn't hear any walker sounds, so he figured they were okay for now. He shone his flashlight at the clock's face. '_Tempus Fugit_' was inscribed there. Time Flies. Damn right it does, he thought to himself. Either one of them could die at any moment. He turned away from the clock and its depressing reminder.

In the next room was a little shop selling clothes and knickknacks. He found some cinnamon sticks and stuffed them in his pocket, except for one, which he stuck in his mouth. He sat down to catch his breath and saw a dead woman's upper body stuck on one of the store mannequins with a sign around the neck saying, "Rich Bitch." What the hell had happened here? Beth walked towards the body and looked at it sadly.

"Help me take her down," she said, as she attempted to lift the body off of the mannequin.

"It don't matter; she's dead." Daryl replied pragmatically.

"It does matter," Beth insisted.

Daryl didn't really want to go around making sure all of the dead bodies they encountered were decent, but he could see that Beth was really bothered by this macabre sight in particular. "Here," he said, as he grabbed a blue blanket from a display nearby and tossed it over the dead woman. She didn't seem to be entirely happy with that, but she accepted it.

They went back out into the hallway, and the grandfather clock chimed.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Shit. If there were any walkers in here, that would bring them for sure. Best be moving on. They went down yet another hallway—it was like a damned maze in here!—and immediately heard the telltale shuffling and rasping. They turned back the way they came, but they were cut off that way, too. Where had those walkers come from so suddenly? Sometimes it almost seemed like the godforsaken things appeared out of thin air.

Beth ran into another room that looked like it may have been a lounge area, with a leather couch, a card table, some chairs, and even a pullout couch that had been turned into a bed. Daryl followed. Luckily the room was empty, but the walkers had pursued them. Beth ran and hid in a closet at the back of the room. Hmph. He guessed he was doing this on his own, then. Daryl hoisted his crossbow as he turned. He shot an arrow into the first one, but they were coming too fast. Reloading his bow would take too long. He pushed the second walker away from him, swiftly picking up another golf club that was lying in the middle of the room. He began swinging at the walker's skulls with the golf club. He managed to take out two that way, stabbing the next one through the head with the club, rather than swinging.

A walker wearing a green sweater came through the door, so he kicked it away. The one after that got a knife through the eye. By that time, the green sweater-clad walker had gotten back up and was heading for him. It was the last one. He grabbed the golf club again. Overcome with all the emotions he had been holding in—his grief at losing his family and the prison, his annoyance at Beth for her selfishness, his anger at these filthy, disgusting freaks that never allowed them to let their guards down, his guilt over not taking the shot that might have saved Hershel, his feelings of helplessness that he couldn't fix any of this, plus his exhaustion—he unleashed his fury on that last walker, beating it unceasingly with the golf club. He didn't even aim for the head because he just wanted to beat the shit out of it. He was so consumed with rage that he hadn't seen Beth come back into the room, or noticed the horrified look on her face at witnessing his savagery.

His brutality continued until the walker was finally on the ground, beaten to a bloody pulp, and Daryl had begun to wear himself out. He took one more swing, sending blood and brain matter flying—right onto Beth's new clothes. Oops. She stared at him, wide-eyed and cautious, and then turned away. That, along with the fact that he had released a lot of his frustrations, snapped him out of it. He didn't remember her getting new clothes. She must have changed into them at the shop while he was scavenging. It bothered him that he hadn't noticed, not because he cared about women's fashions or anything, but because he had always prided himself on how observant he was. He knew that the fact he had not noticed meant he was definitely not at the top of his game, and that was cause for concern. That could get them killed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Beth did not appreciate his outburst, he sensed, seeing her purse her lips as she indignantly shrugged off her sweater. Prissy little thing. Oh well, at least she wasn't terrified of him after all that. For a minute he thought that she might be. She stalked out of the lounge area, so he followed, still hoping to find something for his hand and a place to sleep for a bit.

She went down the hallway a little ways and stopped. "We made it," she said breathlessly, looking back at him. They'd found the bar. "I know you think this is stupid," she began, seeing his stone-faced expression, "and it probably is, but...I don't care. All I wanted to do today was lay down and cry, but we don't get to do that. So...beat up on walkers if that makes you feel better. I need to do this." And with that, she turned and flounced into the bar. She was right. Daryl did think it was stupid—in fact, he thought it was so self-evidently stupid that he was at a loss to understand why she thought it was a good idea—but what the hell was he supposed to do about it?

Hell, if they could find a secure enough place to rest for awhile, she could lay down and cry all she wanted as far as he was concerned. All he'd ask of her would be to keep her eyes and ears open while he got some rest, so she could wake him if there was any danger. He stood there momentarily, thinking about his options. If she was _that_ determined to have a drink, he supposed he couldn't really stop her. Maybe it would do her some good to feel the effects of the hangover she was sure to have afterwards. But if he was going to have to deal with a drunken Beth, he was going to have to be in better condition than he was at the moment. Maybe he could reason with her.

Daryl followed her into the bar, once again keeping an eye out for anything useful as Beth went about looking for alcohol. He saw a certificate on the wall, and used the butt of his crossbow to bust the glass of the frame to get to the paper inside. "Did you have to break the glass?" Beth asked, as he folded up the paper.

"No," he replied. "Ya have your drink yet?" He couldn't keep the derisive tone out of his voice. He'd wait and see her reaction once she found something to drink. Maybe she'd spit it out and all of this nonsense would be over.

"No. But I found this—peach schnapps. Is it good?" Beth asked.

"No," Daryl said, unimpressed. Peach fucking schnapps. He couldn't even use that as an antiseptic.

"Well it's the only thing left," Beth shot back tartly.

He found a set of darts and began to throw them at the pictures of the country club management. They were probably assholes, anyway, he figured—the kind of pompous jackasses who looked down on guys like him before the turn. Meanwhile, Beth was searching for a clean glass, but she wasn't having any luck. Blood and muck was everywhere. "Who needs a glass?" she said, more to herself than to him as she lifted the bottle to bring it closer to her. She stared at it for a minute, looking like she was trying to gear herself up to open it. Then she began to cry.

Aw hell, Daryl thought to himself. He felt pretty bad for the poor kid. He also wanted to get her out of there; he didn't think there was anywhere secure enough in the country club to stay for long, and also this place was just a constant reminder of the nightmare they were living in. So he took the bottle from her, smashed it on the ground, and told her, "You ain't gonna have your first drink be no damn peach schnapps." And she wasn't. If she really, really felt she needed to do this, Daryl was going to make sure she had what he considered a decent first drink. Moonshine! And if she never wanted to drink again after that, well, that would just be an added bonus, he thought. "C'mon," he said, swinging open the door. Now he had a plan.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"A motorcycle mechanic," Beth said suddenly, as they walked through the forest.

"Huh?" Daryl had no idea what she was talking about. She wasn't crying anymore, though, which was good. She kept that up, he'd have to go kill something.

"That's my guess," she replied, "for what you were doing before the turn. Did Zach ever guess that one?"

"Don't matter. Hasn't mattered for a long time." He didn't really want to talk about his past right now.

"It's just what people talk about, y'know? To feel normal."

"Yeah, well, that never felt normal to me," he said, as he led her to a cabin in the woods. "Found this place with Michonne." he said, changing the subject.

"I was expecting a liquor store."

"Naw. This is better," he told her, walking more purposefully now that they'd reached their destination. He went straight to a nearby shed and picked up the moonshine. This would be a good antiseptic. It also might cause a more squeamish person to swear off drinking alcohol forever. Handing her the crate filled with jars of moonshine, he picked up his crossbow and headed into the cabin. He did a quick sweep of the place, but there wasn't much space for any walkers to hide, so it was clear.

"All right," Daryl said, as he blew the dust off of the top of the moonshine jar. Beth sat down at the table as Daryl poured some moonshine into a glass for her. "Now that's a real first drink, right there," he told her. Beth hesitated, taking a deep breath. "What's the matter?" Daryl asked.

"Nothin'...it's just...my dad always said bad moonshine could make you go blind."

"Ain't nothin' worth seein' out there anymore, anyway," Daryl replied sadly, trying not to think of a certain woman that he'd never see again.

Beth shrugged and took her first sip—and promptly spewed it back out, all over the table. "That's the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted," she choked out, eyes watering. Seeing Daryl's smirk, though, she squared her shoulders as her pride kicked in, and she took another swallow. This time she was showing off—that wasn't just a sip. She actually finished what was in the glass. And, as Daryl knew she would, she immediately started choking. "It burns! Oh God..." she gasped. All pride gone now, tears streamed from her eyes as she doubled over, coughing. Hell yeah it burns, Daryl thought, unable to keep himself from chuckling. Beth was too preoccupied with the liquid trail of fire blazing a path down her throat to even give him a dirty look for his laughter.

After a while, Beth's coughing subsided. Lesson number one had been a success, and Daryl decided this was as good a time as any for the second lesson he thought she needed to learn. "Got that out of your system now?" he asked Beth, who nodded weakly, looking miserable. "Good," he stated, "then we can get back to thinkin' about survival. Moonshine's a good antiseptic," he told her, taking his red rag out of his back pocket and pouring out some moonshine onto it. He hissed as he applied it to the cut on his hand, rubbing it hard to clean out the dirt. The wound had started to scab over, but it was still infected and dirty, so he was going to have to open it up again.

"When did you do that?" Beth asked.

"When I was skinnin' the snake," he replied, still focused on cleaning his wound.

"Oh," Beth said in a small voice, looking down. She seemed bemused that she hadn't noticed, and he thought it was starting to hit her, how selfish she'd been. This would probably be a good time to reason with her.

"Beth, now that you've got the drinkin' out of your system, I need your help," he began. "I know you're young and you've been protected all this time, but now that it's just the two of us, we have to work together if we're going to survive." He had her full attention now, he saw, as she stared at him earnestly, so he continued, "And I need some sleep. I haven't slept since we left the prison. So I need you to keep watch, so's I can get some rest. Think you can do that?"

"NO!" A panicked look flashed across her face, and she started to fret. "What if something happens? What if one of those...things...gets in? What if there's a herd!?"

"Then you wake me up, and I'll take care of it. But I can't keep going like this, Beth. I won't be any good to either of us if I don't get some sleep soon. We're isolated here, and we'll be quiet, so I doubt that a herd will come by. If there's one or two of 'em stumbling by outside, I don't think you need to worry about it. But you can wake me up if you need to, all right?"

She still looked worried, but she nodded. What choice did she have, really?


End file.
